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House Of Pain - Feel It

на свой мобильный!
Отправь SMS с текстом 55788-107-1850 на номер 5537.

Предложение действительно для Российских операторов.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we got Bo, Duke and Daisy goin` to
go see Boss Hogg. Then ya got Kooter fixin` over them cars...

I don`t need a glock cause I`m not a hard rock
Got bitches on my jock, like New Kids On The Block
I can`t lose like Parker Lewis, I`m undefeated
Step into my sector, homeboy, you`ll get greeted
By the 380 colt mustang in my pocket
I had a few drinks already, don`t make me cock it
Cause if I have to cock it, well then it`s gettin` shot
And if it`s gettin` shot, well, yo, you`re gettin` bucked down
I don`t fuck around, I ain`t got time for punks
But I got time to smoke all the skunk philly blunts
Stunts gather round, check out the sound
And let`s get down to do the nasty, freaky, funky
Stinky, junky, let`s bump uglies in the nighttime
Between the sheets
Cause I rock fly rhymes over funky beats
The Celtic ruin, the legion of doom
Now gimme the track, or with the fat back doom
Now gimme some room, and I`ll explode
Cock back my hammer, then squeeze off my load
So hit the road, Jack, and don`t come back no more
Or I`ll be moppin` up the floor with your crew of soft core
Punk pussy bitches, jail house snitches
On stage, I get wrecked and I collect my riches
I get the funky style, and like Gomer Pile
You`ll be `Surprise surprise surprise!` as I
Rise to the top, fuck a punk cop
I`m always hip-hop, only a pimple goes pop
So you better quit, zit
I came to rip shit
Blastin` with the Soul Assassins
Askin` the question, teachin` the lesson
Bringin` the West Coast back to the East Coast
Where it all started, what`re you, retarded
You`re startin` to trip from that Jheri curl drip
Soakin` in your brain, the House Of Pain
Is causin` pain, and feelin` pain
So feel it

Chorus
Just feel it
Feel it
Just feel it
C`mon y`all, feel it

Back to the rhyme, I`m always on time
A lime to a lemon, yo, a lemon to a lime
I rock the old school style and it`s futile
To step up, cause you`ll get swept up
Like dust, or I just might bust and unload my clip
Unless you`re a punk, then I`ll just pop you in the lip
And show you the deal, now how did that feel
You know I`m killin` any pig that squeels
I`m fillin` up reels of tape with my fly rhymes
And I`ve got a subsciption to High Times
Son Dooby`s in the back, the Mexican Ralph Emms is on the track
My DJ Lethal, he`s on the cut
When I bust a dope rhyme, it`s like bustin` a nut
So let me jerk off on the mic and get it sticky
When I drink a brew it`s either Guiness or mickeys
I`ll put your head out just like a fuckin` Malboro
Don`t fuck with me, punk, you know that I`m thorough
Bred like a race horse, right-in-your-face force
Feedin` you beats, straight off the streets
So catch me catch me, if you can
You know I`m the man like Chewbacca knows Han
Solo, bolos are what I`ll be throwin`
When I be flowin`, I get the job done
Cause I`m number one, the Prodigal Son
I left and I came back, but not with the same rap
And not with the same style, I`m known to get buckwild
The luck of the Irish spreads like a virus
So feel it

Chorus

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